1 Margarita Nights

by Phyllis Smallman

  I was still in bed sorting through the pain two hours later when someone dropped Ruth Ann off. She didn’t seem to think it was strange I’d crawled home to my mother’s bed for comfort and I didn’t protest when she got on the phone and told the Sunset I wouldn’t be in for a few days. But when I heard her talking to the doctor’s office I dragged myself out of the pink haven. This was serious. She hadn’t even called a doc tor when I fell off the roof and broke my arm. It hadn’t been until the next day, when my teacher had the school secretary take me to the hospital and they did the x-rays, that we found out it was broken.

  “Well, who’s to know? You’re always so dramatic,” Ruth Ann said when she came to the hospital to pick me up.

  The truth, at least my truth, was that she was so busy with the latest “love of her life” that she wouldn’t have noticed if I’d expired at her feet. Ruth Ann believed in love, believed that love could conquer all, even though her life was a bad soap opera of wasted chances, broken promises and failed relationships. Now what I once thought of as stupidity was beginning to seem like bravery in the face of a brutal reality.

  I padded out to the kitchen. “Forget the doctor. I’m fine.” “You’re not. I just want to get something to settle your nerves.” It must be the hormone changes that were making Ruth Ann act so impulsively and motherly now.

  I pressed down the telephone rest of her old pink princess phone. “Just leave it. My breakdown is over.” I wasn’t at all sure it was true but as long as I didn’t think too closely about what had happened over the last week I might just squeak by. “Can I do anything for you, darling?”

  I thought about it for a heartbeat. “Yeah, you can. How about going out and getting Casablanca for me?” She stared incomprehensibly at me.

  “You know the movie . . . Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.”

  “You want to watch a movie? Now?”

  “That’s just what I want. Take the truck.” I dug the keys out of my jeans and skidded them along the table to her.

  She wrung her hands, afraid to argue with me in case she set me off again, the same fear I’d had with Andy. At last she picked up the keys. “All right, sweetie.” Being nutty definitely has some advantages.

  While she was out I called Marley and told her both Andy and Jimmy were dead for sure.

  When we stopped crying at each other she asked where I was. I told her.

  “I’m coming,” she said. Maybe it was just so unbelievable that I’d run home to Momma that she had to see for herself.

  “I’ll just cancel the rest of my appointments.”

  “Isn’t necessary,” I protested.

  “Maybe not for you but it is for me,” she said and hung up the phone before I could argue.

  The three of us had a group hug, a communal bawl and a discussion that went nowhere. Then we sat lined up on the sofa watching Casablanca and crying our heads off for lost love and wasted romance, while eating popcorn and drinking cold beer.

  It wasn’t until the last frame of the movie that I figured out where Andy had hidden the tape.

  In the movie the exit visas from Casablanca were hidden in Sam’s piano. That’s where Andy had hidden the tape, in a piano, and as sleep crept over me I remembered where I’d recently seen a piano that Andy had access to.

  A hand covered my mouth and a hushed voice breathed, “Shhh,” and then, “Get up.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “There’s someone outside,” Ruth Ann whispered. “And I smell gasoline.”

  Chapter 45

  She whipped back my covers and tugged on my arm, repeating, “Get up.” Going to the window and sliding open the glass, she pulled out the screen and tried to hoist herself up on the ledge. I was mesmerized by black lace slipping up over a black satin thong.

  The window was too high. She darted to the desk and grabbed the small chair. Setting it beneath the window, she looked back to me and whispered, “Hurry.”

  I was awake now. I rolled forward onto my feet and catapulted off the end of the bed. My bag was hung over a spindle at the bottom of the bed. I grabbed for it and finished up next to Ruth Ann at the window.

  She was already on the chair. Turning sideways she planted her behind on the ledge, swung one bare leg over the sill and then the other one and dropped out of sight.

  I slung the bag strap over my head and threaded my left arm through it as I climbed onto the chair. I braced myself on the sill, the metal channels biting into my hands. Below me in the dark, Ruth Ann crouched. I swung over the sill and dropped down beside her.

  She pointed to the next trailer and dashed across the ten feet separating the units, dropped down to her belly and started shimmying into the fourteen inches of space beneath the trailer. I followed.

  I was halfway under when there was a giant whoosh and the night lit up. I moved like lightning, scuttling up beside Ruth Ann. Debris rained down on the tin roof above us, making a hell of a racket, as she reached out a hand to stop me from going any further.

  “If this trailer catches on fire we’re going to fry here,” I protested.

  “Just wait,” she replied, never letting go of my arm. It wasn’t easy to stay still. When it stopped raining junk, Ruth Ann said, “Okay,” and shimmied forward on her elbows like she’d been practicing for this her whole life. And maybe she had.

  I was off like a shot until my hand touched something, something soft and living.

  It yowled and shot away from me into the blackness beneath the trailer. I cursed. “Shhh,” Ruth Ann warned.

  Ruth Ann held me back again at the edge of the trailer, sticking out her head to look around. Outside, an excited and frantic voice began calling and giving orders. “Okay.” She squirmed out from beneath the trailer.

  I followed but slower, hesitating with only my head protruding, prudence overcoming panic. Out there was still someone who had tried to burn us alive.

  Ruth Ann didn’t hesitate. She was already at the next trailer. I shimmied the rest of the way out and cautiously followed.

  Ruth Ann tried the door before retrieving a key from over the light, opening the door and going in. I couldn’t figure out what was happening so I hunkered down in the shadows, waiting for Ruth Ann to reappear.

  Around us doors opened and people in various states of undress piled out. Then the overhead lights went out. Now the only illumination was from the fire but it was still enough for someone to find me by. I slid down the stairs and pressed deeper into the shadows of a shrub, wrapping my arms around myself to stop the shivering. It was cold, probably only in the forties, but that wasn’t the reason I was shaking.

  People came towards the fire like bugs drawn to a porch light and I watched for anyone familiar, sure that someone was out there waiting for me but not knowing who it was. But then again, maybe they’d gone, thinking they’d taken care of me just like they had Jimmy and Andy. They hadn’t counted on Ruth Ann . . . Rambo in a thong.

  She appeared now, carrying an armload of clothing and a flashlight, although the fire spread a dim light around us.

  “Here,” she said, handing me half of her bundle. “Ken and Joanne are both deaf. I had to wake them.”

  I wondered, in our little adventure, when she’d had time to think of that.

  “They gave me some clothes for us. You must be freezing.”

  An hour later most of the Shoreline people had drifted away, back to the warmth of their own dwellings but here and there little groups talked in hushed tones. Even though it was frigid, Ruth Ann and I refused all offers of shelter. Wrapped in blankets we sat on the concrete steps of the trailer next to Ruth Ann’s, watching the three remaining firemen patrol the embers of Ruth Ann’s home. The oversized man’s tracksuit and the heavy pair of sport socks I’d pulled on did little to keep out the chill and not even the acrid smell of burnt wiring, plastics and other carcinogenic things I didn’t want to think of could drive us away. We were compelled to hang in until the bitter end.

  Ruth Ann’s hair hung in
ragged hanks around her face. In the harsh morning light with no makeup she looked every day of her age and more. “Sorry, Mom.” She put her arm around my shoulder. “What for?” she asked. “This is my fault. I brought this on you.” She gave a small shrug. “Perhaps it was George.” She saw my questioning look and responded with, “The guy you saw me with the other night. The pig. I think he did this.” Seems we had our choice of nut-case arsonists. “It could be worse,” Ruth Ann said.

  “How? How in flipping hell could it be any worse?”

  “I could have owned that piece of junk.”

  “Still you’ve lost everything.”

  “I was due for a new wardrobe.” She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “But I’ll miss the pictures of you kids.”

  “I won’t. How come I had so many teeth? That’s all you could see, great big teeth.”

  “I read that the nose is the only part of the body that keeps growing throughout your life.” Her voice was full of amazement, like she’d just found the solution to world hunger.

  Silence.

  “And?” I asked.

  “And what?”

  “What’s the point of the nose story?”

  “Maybe as your nose grew it balanced your teeth. Your teeth weren’t too big; your nose was too small.”

  “Gee thanks. I feel loads better.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

  Crazy giggles bubbled out of us. The trailer folk standing in small clusters broke off their soft conversations and looked at us. The firemen turned to look at the mad women. Their blank expressions sent us off into uncontrolled laughter, tears rolling down our cheeks, our bodies convulsing.

  I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the flat of my hands. “I don’t know if it’s safe to stay at my place. Jimmy was mixed up in something bad. I think the trailer was set on fire because of Jimmy.”

  She took it like Ruth Ann takes everything, like it was just what she expected out of life and one more thing to be endured. “If there’s bad stuff going on, you should go stay at your daddy’s.”

  The crazy Vietnam vet with the hair-trigger temper was the meanest son of a bitch in the valley, with nothing to fear from anyone. Besides, he lived among an arsenal of assault weapons. “You’ll be safe there.”

  “Yeah, but will Daddy?” This set us off once more. When I could breathe again, I told her, “I swear, in twenty-four hours I’d cut his heart out.”

  “Then come to Bodilla’s with me. She’ll put us up ’til we find something.”

  I thought about it. “I have a place.” No more collateral damage.

  We watched the fire marshal bag some stuff. We’d already been interviewed upside down and backwards. Ruth Ann said, “I’ll have to get new cards for everything.”

  “You can do it from my place.”

  Ruth Ann shook her head. “I’m going to work. It’s payday. I plan to take the whole thing and buy clothes from the skin out. I’m looking forward to it.” She’d definitely spent her whole life getting ready for this one bizarre tragic moment.

  Ruth Ann’s Toyota was toast. The paint was bubbled and the right side tires had melted into the stones of the drive, leaving it sitting on a weird angle. Jimmy’s truck was unscathed but I wouldn’t let Ruth Ann inside until I’d started it, just to make sure it didn’t blow up, caution slipping into paranoia.

  We swung by the Tropicana, took showers and dressed. My clothes hung on her but she took it well. Her only comment was, “You should wear brighter colors.”

  Then we went out with a pair of scissors to get her transportation. We cut the drooping ceiling cloth away from the roof of the Green Puke and dropped the gray dusty material onto the floor in the back seat. I handed over the keys and Ruth Ann headed for the Crab Shack for her lunchtime shift.

  She worked three shifts a week at the Crab Shack and five nights a week at Dutch’s.

  Alone and out in the open, I felt vulnerable and small. Fear goosed me up the stairs two at a time. I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it, wishing I’d asked Ruth Ann to stay with me until I’d packed. How humiliating is that? Needing my momma to protect me and willing to put her at risk. Not the tough girl I thought I was.

  Tiredness, fear and loss were catching up to me and I knew I was about to fly apart into a million pieces. It was time to hunker down somewhere safe and take a timeout, but first there were a few details to take care of.

  I dug out Mr. Huff’s business card from the pile of unpaid bills. He answered on the first ring and filled in the particulars. Seems Jimmy had a small trust fund from an aunt. Turned out Jimmy had set up automatic payments from the trust fund account to pay for the insurance and never canceled the payments, another sign of Jimmy’s laziness. Or maybe this was his one act of unselfish caring.

  I needed the policy. From the closet, I took down the cardboard box filled with tax receipts and canceled checks and removed the fake brown leather folder with the gold embossing. When I left Jimmy, I left behind the hand-me-down furniture and crystal wedding presents, taking only my clothes and this folder. It contained my birth certificate and our wedding certificate, something I figured I’d need for a divorce when I got around to it, which I never had . . . another sign of my laziness or maybe of a tiny iota of love that had been fatally wounded but wasn’t yet dead. I untied the ribbon holding the folder together and opened the envelope containing the policy. There it was. I was a rich young widow. At least until I was arrested for Jimmy’s murder . . . one more of life’s nasty little jokes.

  I threw the folder in the bottom of a suitcase and raced around the room, piling clothes and shit in on top of it. Sooner or later someone was going to figure out that I was still alive and come back for me. I intended to be long gone.

  I searched cupboards and closets for the can of mace I carried when a customer at the Sunset had been giving me unwanted attention. I found it at the bottom of a discarded handbag. I felt safer already.

  I crept silently up to the door, listening for any sound to say someone was waiting outside the door for me. All I heard was the squawk of the scrub jays waiting on my balcony for their chance at the feeder. I tiptoed to the window and peeked out. No one was near the truck, and unless they were pressed tight against the wall, there didn’t seem to be anyone on the concourse either. I was ready.

  My hand was reaching for the knob when I heard a small sound, perhaps a pebble rolling on concrete under the bottom of a shoe. I cowered by the door, sweat popping out in my hair and trickling down the nape of my neck. “Don’t be stupid. It’s broad daylight,” I told myself. But I couldn’t drive myself forward with harsh words. I’d already faced up to being a coward.

  I considered the options. Could I do what Jimmy did and drop down from the balcony? Yeah, right, and anyone outside would die laughing and I’d be home free.

  If I called the cops, would they get here in time? Take care of yourself was my family motto and my instinct. With shaking hands, I reached into my bag for the mace.

  I pressed my ear up against the door, trying to hear. Down the hall, a door opened and shut. The nurse who lived on the other side of Evan called out to someone. There was a muted reply.

  My scary piece of death outside the door was just someone waiting for a neighbor. I tucked the mace in a side pocket of the suitcase, picked up the handle of the suitcase and opened the door.

  Wrong again, Sherri.

  Chapter 46

  I tried to jump back in and close the door but he was too fast, shoving his way in and locking the door behind him while I turned and fled. Behind me, I heard him stumble over the suitcase, but still he was on me when I got to the bedroom. He grabbed me from behind and yelled, “Stop.” I kicked him. He turned sideways and my foot connected with his leg. And then he picked me up around the waist and threw me on the bed. Straddling me, Clay held my hands above my head and stared down at me. “What the hell has got into you?” I was breathing too hard to answer.

  He searched my face
. “I heard about the Shoreline on the radio. Heard about Andy. What’s going on?”

  If I screamed, would anyone hear me? The nurse was long gone and everyone else was at work. “What do you want? I haven’t got the video.”

  His hold loosened and he leaned back from me but still sat on my pelvis, impaling me to the bed with his weight. “Why would I want it?”

  “I saw the file on Jimmy.” He looked confused, so I added, “The one in your desk.”

  “Oh, yeah?” His obsidian eyes snapped and danced. “You accidentally looked in my file drawer?” If the romance hadn’t been over already it would be after this confession.

  “Somethin’ like that.”

  We grew still, staring into each other’s eyes and adjusting to a new reality. Then he gave a soft roll of his shoulder and a rueful smile. “Time to fess up, isn’t it?” He ran his hand over his face.

  “It’s my own fault.” He rubbed his forehead with the fingers of both hands and said from the cover of his hands, “I’m out of control.” He lowered his hands and said, “You have to believe this has never happened to me before.” Ashamed and embarrassed at this admission, it seemed important to him that I believe he wasn’t always this crazy. “I just don’t understand what happened, but I was lost from the get go.”

  He smiled wistfully down at me and said in soft amazement, “From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you.” His face said he still couldn’t believe this unfortunate turn of events. “You lit a fire in my belly and it was consuming me. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stand to be around you and couldn’t stand to be away from you. I would have done anything to have you but I had no idea what to do.”